Survival Guide to Dating Your Boss. Fiona McArthur

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      It didn’t occur to Tilly not to grind her teeth. Control was overrated. ‘It’s offensive that we have to work on any body. Back to being handmaidens. We should all be here for the women—including him.’

      ‘Give him time.’ Gina was always the voice of reason—a woman aware that passion needed nurturing and sometimes steering into less controversial paths. ‘We’ll show him we can provide safety and support as well as an optimal environment. Then he’ll understand.’

      The shift passed quietly, two normal births who arrived at the last minute, no time for excessive monitoring or to call for medical help, Tilly thought with satisfaction, and no sight of the new head of obstetrics.

      Tilly went home consumed with curiosity and not a little disappointment. She wanted to see this man that had everyone quaking in their boots but she’d just have to wait.

      The next morning, like most mornings since she’d moved into Hill Street, Tilly headed for the ocean. She couldn’t help her glance up at the guest-bedroom windows in Mrs B.’s house.

      Her dreams last night had been populated by a particular tall, dark and dark haired policeman who seemed to catch her speeding every time she drove onto a particular country road. No doubt there was something deep and meaningful in there somewhere but Tilly had been left with a feeling of anticipation and the wish that she actually owned a car to give her the chance of it coming true. Shame he wasn’t younger than she was and she could try for a fling.

      Maybe she should just paint the hallway. And refix the falling picture rail. That would keep her mind where it should be.

      As Marcus jogged back up the hill after his run he saw three young women leave the house next door. The annoying one wasn’t with them.

      The crash and muffled scream happened as he passed her gate and the repeated swear word, not a bad one in the scheme of things, floated out the window towards him. He sighed.

      Obviously she was alive, but his Hippocratic oath demanded he at least check she wasn’t about to do more damage. ‘Hello?’

      The swearing stopped.

      He called out again. ‘It’s Marcus from next door. Just checking. You all right?’ Marcus tilted his head and listened at her front door, which he could see was unlocked. Typical. Why’d she do that? Didn’t she read the papers? Foolish woman.

      ‘Um. I’m okay. Thanks.’

      She didn’t sound it. In fact, if he wasn’t totally mistaken he had the feeling she was almost in tears. ‘Can I come in?’

      He heard the scrape of furniture and a muffled sob. Nothing else for it, he had to check.

      ‘I’m coming in.’

      She was sitting on the floor, the ladder was on its side and the annoying one was sitting beside it with her foot in her hand. He hoped to hell she hadn’t fallen off the ladder.

      He crouched down next to her. ‘Matilda, isn’t it?’ As if he didn’t remember. ‘What happened? Did you hit your head?’

      ‘Hello, Marcus.’ She brushed a long tangled spiral of hair out of her eyes and his hand twitched at the unexpected desire to catch a tendril she’d missed. How did it spring all over like that and still be so soft?

      ‘No. I wasn’t up the ladder when it fell. But the hammer was. It landed on my toe.’ She bit a decidedly wobbly lip.

      He looked away, not because he wanted to gather her up in his arms and comfort her, certainly not. He looked away to professionally assess her injury and saw one already bruising big toe. He glanced at her woebegone face then back at her toe.

      Her gaze followed his. ‘It throbs.’

      ‘I imagine it would. I won’t touch it until you get a bit of relief.’ He glanced around the open room towards a doorway that looked like it led to the kitchen. ‘Do you have any ice?’

      She almost smiled and he almost melted. ‘Always.’

      He stood up. Quickly. ‘I’ll grab some from the freezer then.’ Marcus stepped around the ladder and righted it before heading for the kitchen. He couldn’t help a little peek around as he went. The house was very tidy.

      He guessed that was one thing in her favour, though he supposed it could be any of the girls who had the clean fetish. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to stack up good things in Matilda’s favour and refocussed on the task at hand.

      Freezer. He saw the unopened bag of frozen peas and decided it would mould better around her foot. He grabbed a tea towel that was folded on the bench.

      When he crouched back down beside her she looked more composed and he mentally sighed with relief. He mightn’t have coped with her tears. ‘I’ve brought the frozen peas. Less square.’

      She took them and lowered them gingerly onto her bruised toe. They both winced. ‘Ow-w …’ she murmured as the green plastic bag settled around her foot.

      ‘Where would you like to sit? Somewhere comfort able, maybe. With your leg up?’ She couldn’t stay there on the floor, which was cold tiles.

      Her big green eyes, still shiny with unshed tears, so completely captured his attention he wasn’t sure what she was talking about when she answered. ‘Um … I’ll try for the sofa.’

      So far? So far so good? Sofa. Right. Move somewhere more comfortable. What the heck was wrong with him this morning? She lifted the ice and he helped her up and he saw her grit her teeth to take a step.

      This was crazy. ‘Here.’ He picked her up easily in his arms and took the few strides to the three-seater lounge. She felt decidedly pleasant against his chest and it was with strange reluctance that he put her down.

      Not sensible. He knelt down and looked quickly at her toe again as she prepared to replace the ice. The bruising was mainly below the start of the nail and he ran his finger along her slender, cute phalanges. He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think anything’s broken. Just bruised.’

      She nodded then looked away from him and he suddenly realised he was still holding her foot. He almost dropped it in his haste to stand up. ‘Well, if nothing else is hurt, I’ll be on my way.’ He unobtrusively wiped his hand on his trousers to rid himself of that warm and tingly feeling.

      Big, solemn eyes looked up at him. ‘Thanks for checking on me.’

      The sooner he got out of here the better. ‘My aunt would kill me if I didn’t.’

      She nodded. ‘Of course. Thanks anyway.’

      Marcus left. Quickly.

      Tilly watched him go, her toe a dull throbbing ache that was being replaced by a dull throbbing ache from the cold peas, but the rest of her was still dazed from being picked up and carried as if she were a baby.

      Scoop and go with no effort at all from him. It had been a very strange feeling to be held against that solid, manly chest and one she would have liked to have savoured for maybe a little while longer just for interest’s sake.

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